


Home To Me

by fitofpique



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-14
Updated: 2009-12-14
Packaged: 2017-10-31 03:21:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/339313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fitofpique/pseuds/fitofpique
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bob groans and lets his head flop back, his eyes flutter shut. "I don't think I'm gonna make it," he croaks. "You guys go ahead."</p><p>"Fuck that noise. As if we'd go anywhere without you." Gerard sounds scandalized.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home To Me

"-no, no spinach. Yeah. Me too. Okay, bye."

Gerard has his arms crossed and his back to the store, the phone pressed tightly to his ear. He's staring at the floor behind the counter so intently he doesn't notice that Bob is standing there until he turns around.

"Fuck!" he half-shouts, collapsing back against the counter and pressing his hand, the phone still clutched in it, to his chest. His eyes darts nervously around the shop but not one person looks up. " _Jesus_ , Bob," he whispers. "I thought you were taking a fucking nap."

Bob tries to shrug, but it turns into a shiver halfway through. He pulls his hoodie down over his hands. "I couldn't sleep," he admits. "I can't breathe lying down."

"And you can't sleep sitting up." Gerard says. He presses his lips together and tightens the corners of his mouth the way he does when he's holding something back, which happens so rarely that Bob knows he must look as bad as he feels.

He sighs. "Just say it, Gerard. I know it's killing you not to."

Gerard's jaw works for a second and then he tilts his head from side to side, rolls his eyes at the ceiling and sighs. "I told you to stay home."

"And I told you that I am fine. Stop fucking mothering me," Bob says, but lightly, because Gerard is freakishly sensitive sometimes, and Bob knows he means well.

Gerard frowns, the little one that starts in the middle of his forehead and creeps down, and tugs at his hair. "Then stop acting like a fucking toddler and take care of yourself!"

He sounds so exasperated Bob has to cough into his sleeve until he can keep a straight face. He shakes his head. "I wasn't going to leave you alone in the store the week before Christmas."

"Of course not! It's a much better idea for you to come in and give everyone in New Jersey swine flu in time for the holidays! Typhoid Fucking Bob."

Bob rolls his eyes, takes a quick look around the store to make sure no one is looking, and shuffles a little closer. "Stop being so melodramatic, you loser. It's just a cold." He thinks about leaning in and resting his heavy, aching head on Gerard's shoulder but he doesn't do it.

"Stop being such a stubborn asshole," Gerard says, but he smiles sweetly, reaching out and tucking a finger into the pocket of Bob's jeans to pull him even closer.

"Whatever," Bob mutters, but he bumps Gerard's hip with his.

"Wow, this is pretty Brokeback."

Gerard laughs, loud and delighted and stupid. He makes a face at himself and then laughs again, more quietly this time. "Hey, Linds."

She smiles widely, cheeks red from the cold, hair sticking out from under her woolly hat in two messy bunches. "Hi! I come bearing gifts!" She hands Bob a thermos and plunks a paper bag from the deli on the counter.

Gerard peers in the bag and makes an appreciative noise. He pulls out two coffees and hands one to Lindsey, leans over the counter and kisses her lightly on the lips. "I love you," he says, fervently.

She laughs. "You're kind of easy."

Bob scowls at them and opens the thermos. He sniffs it. "What is this?"

Lindsey reaches over the counter and pushes a piece of hair out of Bob's eyes and up under his hat. "It's a steaming hot cup of shut the fuck up, Bryar. Just drink it," she says, and grins at him.

"You're fucking funny," he mutters, but he pours himself a cup and takes a tiny sip, lemony and medicinal. Suddenly, he's a kid again, on the couch with blankets up to his chin, a rainbow mug clutched in his hands, and cartoons on the TV. He sighs and smiles at Lindsey. 

She smiles back and pulls another container out of the bag. "Chicken soup?"

"Thank you," he says. His voice sounds strange and choked to him, and it isn't just the cold. He tries to think of something more to say, something better, but he feels stupid. "Thank you," he says again, and leans over the counter to kiss Lindsey's cheek.

Gerard smiles at them both, ridiculously wide and fond, for a long minute. "Go eat your soup," he says bossily. "I'll close up."

Bob rolls his eyes, but he puts the lid back on the thermos.

"I'll come with you," Lindsey says. She picks up her coffee and the soup and follows him into the back.

The staffroom is dim and warmer than the shop. Bob collapses onto the couch, sets the thermos on the end table, and accepts the container of soup when Lindsey offers it.

She sits gingerly beside him and then slides over so their arms are pressed together. "I picked out all the spinach," she says, and rests her head on his shoulder.

Bob freezes, spoon in the air halfway between the container and his mouth. "You-. You don't, you didn't have to ... _Lindsey_." He feels weirdly tight in the chest, like he can't breathe.

"Eat your fucking soup, Robert," she says, but he can hear the smile in her voice.

"Okay," he says, and he eats his fucking soup, only stopping once to blow his nose for about a year.

"Gross," Lindsey says, but she doesn't move.

He tries to shrug, but he's exhausted and his muscles ache like a son of a bitch. "Yeah," he says instead.

When he's finished, he puts the container on the end table and touches Lindsey's fingers, curled loose on her thigh. "I love you," he says, just as Gerard walks through the door, beaming at them.

"Store's all locked up," he says, crossing the room. The coffee's obviously had a chance to work because there's a definite bounce in his step. He bends down and kisses Bob's mouth, warm and insistent.

Lindsey tips her head back and looks up at him, lips parted, and Gerard leans over and kisses her too. "Time to go?" she asks, levering herself up off the couch. She hooks a thumb back at Bob. "We need to get this one to bed."

Bob groans and lets his head flop back, his eyes flutter shut. "I don't think I'm gonna make it," he croaks. "You guys go ahead."

"Fuck that noise. As if we'd go anywhere without you." Gerard sounds scandalized. He wraps one hand around Bob's wrist and gives a little tug.

It's stupid that Bob still needs to hear it sometimes and embarrassing the relief the words bring. He lifts his head and forces his eyes open, lets a smile pull at the corners of his mouth. Gerard is holding Bob's coat and staring at him, his gaze soft and serious. Lindsey's smiling, adjusting her hat and rewrapping her scarf. When she's done, she grabs Bob's other hand and together she and Gerard heave him off the couch.

"Okay," he says, shouldering his way into his coat, though it's a major effort just to lifts his arms. He's feverish and everything hurts, but he's also just ... overwhelmed. Dizzy with love and gratitude, even though he'll probably never find the words to express it. He lets Gerard put an arm around his shoulder and takes Lindsey's hand. "Let's go home."

End.


End file.
